“We will remember! Come in. I don’t have much planned for Sunday dinner, but we’ll have plenty.” Now that he was here, Kate didn’t want him to leave. She liked having company. And even if he was grumpy or silent, Fletch had never, ever harmed her. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“Thank you.” He bowed properly and took her key to open the door. “I’m glad you’re still keeping it locked. I worry about you.”
“I’ve lived out here all my life without any trouble.” Well, except that once, and that hadn’t been in this house. Besides, that ghost had finally been laid to rest. She’d learned she could fight back. “And now that the captain has Hugh in a cell, I doubt we’ll have any more trouble. But I do keep the doors locked.”
She didn’t know if she appreciated Fletch worrying about her. But she had gone a bit off her head yesterday, so he might be rightfully concerned.
She probably ought to worry about her, should she ever have time. But she still felt. . . strong. She hadn’t cowered and cried. She’d fought like a madwoman, mayhap, but Lavender was safe again. She felt rather. . . confident. . . for a change.
“I brought a smoked ham. Let me fetch my saddlebag.” Again, he stood there ill at ease. “I hoped. . . well, we’ll talk after dinner.”
He hoped what? But the children were hungry and she had dried peas soaking and the ham would be lovely. . . While she was at it, she mixed up some pan bread. Lynly brought in greens and Fletch set the table as if he belonged here. He’d only been with them a week or so, but she felt comfortable having him perform these simple chores, as Brydie once had before she moved away.
George and her father had never helped in the kitchen, but Fletch. . . had worked with Rafe feeding soldiers, so she supposed he knew how.
Anyway, it felt right when they helped each other. She cut up the ham on his plate because he’d hurt his arm, again, dealing with her wretched brother-in-law. And when Rob worried about one of Damien’s horses, it made sense for Fletch to go out and take a look. Rob needed to learn from someone. She couldn’t teach him about horses.
So once the children were doing their homework, she offered Fletch a cup of tea and a biscuit and sat down at the kitchen table with him as if he were an old friend and not a man she should fear.
She missed having friends to tea. Since she’d started working, life had become too busy for visiting.
“I want to ask an enormous favor of you,” he said reluctantly, ignoring the tea and crumbling the sweet.
Her heart did another tumble. With his highwayman’s deep-set dark eyes and tense, square jaw belying the civilization of his clean linen, she almost worried he had something dreadful to say. “I owe you a great deal,” she reminded him.
“You owe me nothing.” The biscuit fell apart in his big fingers. “I’d like to let your dining room, if I might. I’ll make up my own bed, but I’m afraid I’ll scatter clockworks all over your table, so it will be messy.”
She blinked in surprise. “You’re welcome to stay as before. It’s still my fault that you were injured.” The thought stirred her uneasily. He was talking again, a real exchange of words and not barked commands. But how soon would he return to sullenness? Did it matter?
He shook his head. “I was the one who leaped out of the cart like a caged animal. But. . .” He took a deep breath and stared over her head, trying to focus his thoughts. “I’m calmer here. I don’t feel as if a black cloud sits on my head.” He gestured helplessly. “It’s normal here. Your children. . . make me feel as if I’m not a monster.”
What had war done to him to make him feel like that? Daringly, she touched his rough, brown hand. “You are not a monster. You are a hero. I will happily make up a better bedchamber for you. You are welcome to our dining room for your work, but if you don’t mind a smaller area, you might prefer to set up a table in my father’s office. It’s quieter and I almost never use it.”
He clutched her hand as if it were a lifeline. “Thank you. I want to do better, but a room at the inn and eating at a pub. . . isn’t a normal life. I hate imposing. But I thought if I might be of some use to you occasionally, I won’t be in your way?”
Her lips curved of their own accord. “How much did it hurt to say all those words and how long did you practice?”
He glowered in his usual manner, then grinned sheepishly. “A lot and all night long. But I meant every word. I know better than to say you need a man to protect you. But you can’t do everything yourself. I tried very hard not to say that too.”
No longer carrying a knot of anger, Kate didn’t take umbrage but laughed. “You really don’t know when to stop talking once you start, do you? Do you have family anywhere? Are they like you?”
He nibbled on crumbs as he hunted for words. “My mother abandoned us when I was about ten. My father sold the farm, then, and turned to his clockmaking. He was never much of a talker. I suppose I learned more than clocks from him.”
The poor man had never learned to express himself from a very early age. Kate thought having children around would shake that out of him soon enough—which was evidently his intent. She liked that he realized that.
“Very good! If you can manage to talk to me instead of growling, we should go along just fine. The gossips will be delighted to stir scandal broth. Will you accept a real bed this time, or do you insist on sleeping down here?”
He stood when she did but he looked uncomfortable again. “Might I court you if I promise to be on my best behavior?”
Kate stared at him in shock, but her insides stirred with an excitement she’d never really known. Hers had been a marriage of convenience. She’d never been courted, and certainly not by a full-grown, highly intelligent, handsome man like Fletch. He wasn’t just an injured soldier or grumpy clockmaker anymore.
“We’ll see how quickly your best behavior wears off,” was all she managed to say, before she fled for the stairs.
Where he’d be sleeping across the hall from her. She was as mad as Hugh.
MONDAY
April 15, 1816
